


Your Smile

by suzannahbee123



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 00:37:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20805620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzannahbee123/pseuds/suzannahbee123
Summary: Actions speak louder than words, at least Bucky hopes so after saying the wrong thing…





	Your Smile

The was a sound to true silence. The complete absence of sound. It  _ rang,  _ almost the way a bell did. Tinny, metallic, it sung through the air when all other noise was gone.

That sound of silence positively  _ screamed  _ through the air after you left, the apartment door slamming behind you, and Bucky was all alone, staring helplessly at the space you had just been standing in, smiling for all the world like the most joyful woman on the planet.

The ringing silence taunted him,  _ mocked  _ him for the casually thrown words he had thoughtlessly spat at you. Of course, he hadn’t  _ meant  _ to say them, had, in fact, actually tried to joke his way out of a silly situation.

But that’s where relationships can fall, is it not? 

Two years, the world was returned from The Snap, and Bucky with it. Two years where Bucky had fallen gratefully back into your desperate and hungry arms. The love he shared with you was like that, it always had been. Needy, ravaging and consuming in its ferocity.

In the spaces between though, the small, soft pockets of air in between two loving bodies, that’s where the  _ real  _ love grew. Acorns only need small spaces to grow and turn into oak trees, after all, and that’s what the love Bucky shared with you was.

An oak tree, tall, strong, and true. Nurtured by all the big and small things you do for that one person you gave your heart to, and shelter for all the emotions you could possibly feel for the other half of your soul.

Including anger.

Bucky sighs at the closed door, the puff of frustrated air almost bullet like in the way it pops through the quiet hallway. He hadn’t  _ meant  _ to say what he had. It had seemed harmless when the words bounced around in his skull, and the smile you wore,  _ the  _ smile that could summon joy, mirth, and indescribable happiness in between one second and the next. All he had wanted was to see that smile stretch wider and hold for just a little longer on your pretty face.

The quip was  _ supposed  _ to make you laugh, maybe throw the tea towel you were holding at him in jest… but it didn’t work out like he had assumed.

Instead, your  _ smile  _ had dropped away, disappeared as if it never was there to begin with. 

Regret shot through him, how could it not? A morning that started how  _ his  _ had, with your lips against his skin, his palms sliding over the warm and soft secret places of your body, and beautiful endearments murmured into the yellow hued air, it was  _ never  _ supposed to end with you storming out. Your last words, shouted over his hasty stammering, still rang in his ear;

_“You’re_ _a thoughtless asshole, James Buchanan Barnes!”_

As far as insults go, he had been called a  _ lot  _ worse.

As far as insults go… this one hurt the most because it was  _ true. _

Bucky walked into the kitchen, staring longingly at the discarded plates and pans. Cooking with you, half clothed, secret smiles and the long practiced dance of sharing cooking chores in a small space, was forever a favourite part of his day. Hands would idly stray over hips and shoulders, whispers would turn to teases which would in turn descend into giggles and laughter.

And kisses. Kisses and pecks and  _ smiles  _ against his lips that tasted sweeter and held more  _ sustenance  _ than any food that came hot out of the pan. 

Dishes went into the sink. Hot water and soap over the porcelain, and Bucky  _ wishes  _ his mess of a conversation could be as easily washed away as partially dried pancakes and syrup.

Slowly, Bucky dries the plates and utensils. Carefully places them back in the cupboards and drawers they belong to. Even more slowly, makes his way to the bedroom. The room which holds glittering sunlight, soft sheets, and the echoing whispers of how  _ much  _ he loves you and is loved in return. Every surface of this pale blue haven carries a memory which stirs nothing but heat tempered  _ joy  _ in his blood.

Every item hand picked by you both. Sometimes a bargain had been required, Bucky touches the lamp shaped like a Care Bear, fondly. The lamp you had practically begged for, and so _sweetly, _underneath him when you had seen it on an ad.

_ No, doll, I’m a world renowned assassin and Avenger, can’t let people know I’m soft enough for a teddy bear lamp! _

_ Bet I can change your mind, babe, and besides, everyone knows you’re a big old, sexy, teddy bear already. What harm can a lamp do? _

_ Beg me for the lamp, darlin’, then I’ll think about givin’ up my reputation… _

Bucky closes his eyes, the way your gasps and moans filled the room… of  _ course _ he had bought it for you the next day, paid extra for some pretty gift wrapping.

That smile of yours lit the room up brighter than the lamp did.

Bucky turned away from the novelty gift, and looked at the half opened drawers, satin, lace, silk, all beautiful, all different colours and none of those delicate under things could hold a candle to the softness of your skin, or to the way it shone under the moonlight.

Watching you dress in the mornings, your belly full of the food he had cooked for you and lips still full and pink from the kisses he had laid on you in the hallway,  _ that  _ was a pleasure beyond anything physical. Beyond simple affection. It showed more than anything he had ever heard eloquently put into song or poem.

Watching you dress, from naked and honestly beautiful, no make up adorning you; to dolled up and in your freshly pressed work clothes, hair just so and lipstick in  _ that  _ shade. Beautiful still, always beautiful, but in a different way, and only  _ he  _ got to see all sides to you.

You  _ trusted _ him. Could be as vulnerable as a human being could be with another… and still, you would  _ smile. _ Your voice would fill the bedroom, talking about this deadline you had to meet, about that boss that you hated.

Before you had left, before he had broken that beautiful trust with his appallingly casual words, your trust in him was what had kept his own soft smile on his face, even though he had a whole nine hours, a whole  _ day,  _ without you.

Bucky might be on a rare break from his Avenger duties, but you still had to work you non Avenger job.

Now sat on the bed, head in his hands, Bucky let himself think about what he had said,  _ why  _ you were now halfway to your job and furious with him. All you had asked him to do was a few extra chores, pick up some dry cleaning, water the houseplants you carefully babied on the windowsill…

Feeling bold, happy, and completely oblivious, Bucky had replied with the words that had stolen your easy morning, you joy, your  _ smile,  _ completely away;

_ Chores now?! Goddamn, doll, I think I’d rather be dead. Again. _

Of course you were mad. Of course you didn’t stay, didn’t let him speak. Of course you walked out of the door without a hug, or a kiss, or your usual promise of love on your return.

The sheets still smelled like you. Picking up a pillow, Bucky presses it to his nose. 

_ Lilys. Citrus. A unique scent that belonged to you only. _

Two years he had been back from the ash. You had lost him for five. A pain he couldn’t even fathom. The thought of losing you for a minute was enough to make Bucky’s heart race in terror. 

Another deep breath, pulling you into his lungs.

_ Can you change the sheets too, babe?  _

Soft cotton, a heady combination of his scent and yours, and the more erotic smell of your love emanates from them. A tangled mess on the mattress, navy and white against the faux wood bed frame.

You slept in these sheets without him for five years, his scent would’ve been long gone, your tears would’ve soaked the goose down bedspread.

Shame blooms again, but Bucky wastes no more time in self pity. You wanted chores done, and he would have this place spotless and dinner cooked and ready for you. A bath would be run, candles lit, and he would make  _ sure  _ you never felt the sting of careless words from him again.

***

The click of the lock, the scrape of a key, and Bucky hears you,  _ finally,  _ as you make your way into the apartment. His heart pounds, in fear, in worry… what if you’re still mad? Brush past with nary a desirable word? A whole day has gone by, bringing uncertain clarity with it. His words  _ had been  _ harsh,  _ had been  _ stupid… but you wouldn’t still hold on to them, would you?

Your shuffling steps come forward, Bucky throws the tea towel over his shoulder. Ironed blue shirt,  _ those  _ jeans, and brushed and combed hair. Bucky  _ wants  _ to look good for you, show you he’s always the man you love, that he didn’t mean to make you sad-

You come in, exhaustion lines your face. Tears have swollen the perfect skin around your eyes. Your eyes, which should only be filled with love and joy and ease, glitter with barely withheld tears.

“B-Bucky?” Your lips tremble, and your arms reach for him, “Can I have a hug?”

You  _ never  _ ask, you never need to, but this isn’t the time for Bucky to argue semantics or etiquette with you. 

Two strides and you’re in his arms, your heartbeat flutters against his own, and his ironed blue shirt rapidly becomes crumpled, soaked through, and streaked with your mascara. Anger twists his gut;

_ Who hurt his best girl?! _

He doesn’t need to ask though. After what seemed like hours, but was in fact barely three minutes, you speak. Vent. Rant. Whatever the term was, you did it, the living room Bucky adored spending time with you in, watching movies, reading, gossiping about Sam and Steve and how they weren’t fooling anyone, was now filled with your angry words.

Work. It frustrated you, your boss undermined you, colleagues were useless… just a bad day at the office. But, it was  _ him  _ you could come home to. Could unwind with. 

Another type of trust. Another type of love. Bucky, already undone and remade by the act of your loving him, feels reborn after the mess he made of your morning. Would your day have been better if he hadn’t said what he did?

Maybe, Bucky reasons, silently, maybe not. 

Words slow, stutter, come to a halt, and at the end of your outpouring of emotion, you’re still in Bucky’s arms… and the faint smell of burning emanates from the oven.

Your amused laughter follows Bucky to the kitchen, where the Salmon en Croute he had put in smoulders away merrily. His sigh cuts through your giggles, and his eye roll is met with yet more mirth. Still… you’re  _ smiling  _ again, and it only grows bigger at his suggestion of a pizza and putting you in the bath that he will run for you.

“With the lavender bath salts?”

“Of course, doll. Nothin’ but the best for you,”

Your steps lead through to the bedroom, Bucky following cautiously behind. Clothes and underwear drop to the floor, creams and cotton pads emerge from drawers, and he watches as you don your favourite fluffy bathrobe (it used to be his, another willing clothing sacrifice he is always happy to make), and you remove what’s left of your makeup.

Another type of trust. Another type of love. 

Leaving you to it, Bucky gets the temperature perfect, lights the vanilla scented candles you love so much, and helps you into the water. When you tiredly ask him to join you, his refusal is absolutely a struggle. The temptation of water slick skin sliding against his own is a siren call that would decimate most men. But Bucky is  _ not  _ most men.

This was  _ your  _ evening. Your reward for a day like yours. So, he leaves, but not before happily promising to get cookies delivered with the pizza.

Later, much later, bellies full, skin soft, sheets that smell like honeysuckle and  _ you,  _ Bucky holds you in the bed he helped pick out with you, the mattress designed perfectly to give the best night's sleep. Pliant in his arms, satisfied to hold and be held, it’s a perfect end to a night that started out less than great. Still… Bucky knows there’s one elephant in the room, and he needs to get it out.

“Doll? I’m sorry about what I said this morning, I  _ was _ an insensitive asshole. Forgive me?”

Your body twists against his, hair tickles his chin, and your eyes, such pretty pretty eyes and  _ glowing  _ with what can only be love again, stare at him…

And you  _ smile. _

All is well.


End file.
